


I Rule With The Velvet Tongue And My Dress Undone

by littledaybreaker



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (Jester voice) yasha is wearing a pretty dress, Beauregard Lionett is a useless lesbian, F/F, Spanking, Squirting, This is the definition of pwp and I’m not sorry, Top Yasha, Use of restraints, beau calls her genitals a cunt I’m just warning you ok that’s all I think, bottom Beau Lionett, in which Beau is a sub and she doesn’t even know it, light d/s i guess?, spanking of the frontal variety, this is all king princess’s fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27344356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledaybreaker/pseuds/littledaybreaker
Summary: “Before Yasha, the word 'good' hadn't even been in Beauregard Lionett's vocabulary, and yet here she is, soaking her underwear to her pants from eating pussy, lightheaded from getting ordered around and trying to sit up straighter to please a girl she’s fucking.”Yasha wears a dress. Beau likes it a lot. They play a game.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 6
Kudos: 194





	I Rule With The Velvet Tongue And My Dress Undone

**Author's Note:**

> I have never in my entire life written pwp before as far as I recall, so feedback is welcomed and appreciated.
> 
> This popped into my head, at random, while listening to “Holy” by King Princess. Title is from the same. 
> 
> Per the tags, Beau calls her bits and bobs a cunt, so be warned if that’s not a word you like.

It occurs fuzzily to Beau that she doesn't think she's seen Yasha in a dress before. 

And yet here she is, standing in front of Beau in this emerald velvet dress with the top cut low, wrapping around the front to show cleavage Beau didn't know she had, either. When she shifts and folds her arms it becomes apparent that the slit in the side goes  _ all  _ the way up and Beau doesn't know how to act. "Is that a dress?" she asks dumbly, and almost immediately realizes that might have been the wrong thing to say, because Yasha unfolds her arms and starts smoothing the dress down as though to try to hide it. 

"It's good!" she adds quickly. "it's good, I like it! It's a good dress!" 

Yasha's smile is puzzled, but it's a smile nonetheless, and Beau counts that as a win in and of itself. Even more of a win when she does a little spin in the dress, which she must have learned from Jester. "Thank you," she says, and then adds, "You can see it more later," but leaves before Beau has time to ask her what that means. 

Her answer comes several hours later when she walks into her room in the mansion and finds Yasha lounging in the chair there like some sort of royalty. She's wearing the dress and her hair is done up elaborately--Jester's work, Beau suspects. "Hello," she says, and spreads her legs, making it apparent that she's not wearing underwear, and Beau is pretty sure she's dead now, thank you very much. 

"Um, hello," Beau says from the doorway. 

"On your knees," Yasha instructs, spreads her legs a little further, and oh, well, now she's resurrected, raised from the dead just to die again. 

"Um," says Beau, and stumbles coming over the threshold, which makes Yasha smirk. 

"I said, your knees," she repeats, and this time Beau obeys because she doesn't know how to do anything else, gets on her knees and watches hungrily as Yasha spreads her legs apart further. She can't resist licking her lips, and it makes Yasha smirk. But Yasha's pussy is already wet, the curls glistening with damp, and Beau can't resist a smirk of her own. It doesn't last long, though, because before long Yasha is reaching for her with her legs, pulling her in with them. A thought flutters through Beau's otherwise empty brain, and that thought is this:  _ crush me with your thighs, Yasha.  _ She doesn't have time to articulate it, however, before she is fully between those thighs, enclosed, surrounded, and  _ gods  _ is there any better feeling in the world? She parts the lips of her pussy with her tongue, swipes upward, flicks her tongue soft and gentle over her clit, and is rewarded with a hand in her hair and a moan. When she casts her eyes upward she sees Yasha with her head back, eyes closed with pleasure already, and she makes a pleased sound against her pussy, which results in Yasha gripping the back of her head and shoving her in further. Beau does what she's told. She makes all the moves Yasha likes, flicks her tongue over her clit and pushes it inside, fucking her with it. She revels in Yasha's moans, in the way her thighs tighten around Beau's head, in the smell and taste of her. It's all an impossible turn on for Beau at the best of times, and the dress just makes it  _ that much worse. _ She finds herself squirming, trying to adjust herself to offset the arousal, and if she were to look back up again she would see Yasha smirking down at her. 

Beau's fingers working inside of her and her mouth on her clit tip Yasha over the edge ( _ unfortunately,  _ thinks Beau) quickly, leaves her panting and trembling in the chair for a moment. She releases Beau's head, and Beau stumbles back a bit on her knees, looking up at Yasha as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling soft in some unplaceable way. 

"Come get up on the bed," Yasha orders, and Beau gets to her feet as quickly as she can despite legs that feel like jelly. "On your back. Against the pillows."

Beau does as she's told, gets settled in and waits expectantly for Yasha to tell her what to do next. She's so aroused now her own cunt feels heavy, so wet she's certain there's a spot on her pants, between her legs. Yasha takes her time getting out of the chair, straightening the dress, checking on her hair, shit she almost never does normally. Beau is suddenly, acutely aware  of what kind of game they're playing, and she sits up a little straighter against the pillows, overcome by a desire to be  _ good  _ that she cannot explain. Before Yasha, the word 'good' hadn't even been in Beauregard Lionett's vocabulary, and yet here she is, soaking her underwear to her pants from eating pussy, lightheaded from getting ordered around and trying to sit up straighter to please a girl she’s fucking. There is a word buzzing around in her brain and she ignores it, decides to shut it off. There's no time for thinking now, not with Yasha finally coming to join her on the bed, straddling her hips and finally,  _ finally  _ kissing her, long and slow and deep. Beau moans into the kiss, reached up to tangle her hands in Yasha's hair and--

"No." Yasha reaches to move Beau's hands, placing them on the headboard. "No touching now." And damned if that doesn't cause even more heat to flood to Beau's cunt, making her have to bite back a moan. 

"Okay," she pants, her befuddling desire to be good overriding her desire to touch. "Fine, fine, okay." She grips the headboard, looking expectantly up at Yasha, who just smiles at her. 

"Very good," she says, and kisses her again, this time hard enough to leave Beau breathless, making her grip the headboard til her knuckles go pale. She kisses her way down Beau's jaw, over her throat, until Beau forgets herself and lets go of the headboard to run her hands over Yasha's back. 

She immediately stops and looks up at Beau with consternation. "What did I say?" she asks, and the cold edge to her tone makes Beau want to  _ die.  _

"No touching," Beau says, and she doesn't have enough brain cells to analyze why her voice is so small and soft. 

"Right," says Yasha, and then... leaves? Just gets off the bed and walks away like it's nothing to her to leave Beau there, a puddle of whimpering wet on the bed. She walks around the room as though she's looking for something, and it's too much for Beau to watch her, so she stares up at her own reflection in that stupid ceiling mirror and mouths  _ "fuck." _

Yasha eventually returns to the bed, holding something in her hands that Beau's horny brain does eventually register as being rope. "Are you going to behave yourself now?" she asks, and all Beau can do is nod while she's getting her hands tied up to the headboard, because what else can she do, really? When Yasha is done, she stands back and surveys her work, looking smugly satisfied. "Good," she says, and climbs back onto the bed to straddle Beau's hips again, kissing her hard before slowly, torturously beginning to take her clothes off, kissing all the newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of little nips as she went, which makes Beau squirm and try to fight against the restraints, a frustrated little noise falling from her lips, making Yasha smirk. 

It feels like forever before Beau is finally, blessedly naked, and Yasha once again takes a moment to stand back and admire her. There is a hungry look in her eyes, and it makes Beau feel small and vulnerable in a way that she wishes she could bottle up and save. "You're so  _ wet,"  _ Yasha marvels, and Beau feels heat rise on her cheeks. She wants to say something snarky, challenge her somehow, but the best she can manage is "you did that," which is...none of the above. Yasha looks pleased though, and Beau is pretty sure she is on fire from it. 

"Good." Yasha settles between Beau's legs, spreading them with her hands, and Beau complies, letting it happen. Yasha could've snapped her in half like a twig in this moment and Beau would thank her, for fuck's sake. 

Yasha takes her time, the expanse of her hands drifting over Beau's thighs, inside and out, over her hips and her abdomen, cupping her cunt (which provokes the tiniest of moans from Beau and a smirk from Yasha). 

"Okay," Yasha says, pressing the heel of her hand against Beau's clit. "Rules."

" _ Rules?" _ Beau moans, but it's more pleasurable than incredulous. "There are  _ rules? _ "

"You don't like that?" Yasha questions, and there's that cold edge that turns Beau to liquid fire again. 

"Oh," Beau says softly, turning her head to the side. "No, I like that. Continue." 

"Yeah." Yasha seems content with that, and continues. "You won't come until I say so. Your hands are tied so we don't have to discuss that. You will now call me Mistress. Safety word is Frumpkin."

"Safe word," Beau corrects without thinking about it. Yasha's hand, gently resting on her cunt, comes up so sharply Beau thinks she's going to slap her across the face. 

She doesn't, of course. Instead, her hand comes down against Beau's cunt, and all Beau can do is gasp and arch her hips up into it. She knows it's a punishment but her brain is a litany of  _ more more more more more _ , and when she looks up into the mirror (she  _ gets it  _ now, gods, does she ever) she can see the scene unfolding, grips the headboard hard. 

"Whore," Yasha says dismissively, and then spanks her again. Beau keeps her eyes glued on the mirror so she can watch it all, her own body and Yasha's. 

"Yes, yes," her mouth says before her brain has time to catch up to it. "I'm a whore, I'm your whore,  _ fuck  _ that felt good, don't stop." 

Yasha stops. "That is not the point," she says in that cold voice. "I think you need to sit there for a minute." She scoots away, and Beau lays there panting and looking up at herself, wondering where Yasha learned all of this and how she ended up in this situation. She notices, vaguely, that Yasha is still in her dress and she has to close her eyes and take some deep breaths, which Yasha seems pleased by. 

"You're a good girl," Yasha says, and kisses her, and all the blood in Beau's body is in her cunt now. She whimpers as Yasha reaches between her legs, circles her clit with one finger. "So wet for me," she says, and Beau nods. This time, she remembers the script. "For you, mistress." 

She is rewarded for it by Yasha pressing a finger inside of her, the palm of her hand on Beau's clit. Beau arches up, head falling back, and moans. "Fuck me," she whispers, and she's not sure if Yasha heard her, because she doesn't do anything different for the longest time, until finally, blessedly, she adds a second finger and moves them just the way Beau likes. Her hands are big enough that two is just enough, and Beau rolls her hips up into them, matching Yasha's thrusts, until-- "stop it." 

Beau stops. "What?"

"Stop it. Let me."

Beau makes a frustrated noise but decides to trust her, letting her body relax, spreading her legs. 

"Good girl," Yasha says, and any doubt that Beau has that this was the right move is gone. Yasha's hand is moving again and although it takes everything in her power to do as she was told, Beau somehow does. She lays back and lets herself enjoy the feeling of being completely out of control of a situation for once in her life. 

It doesn't take long, though, before she can feel her orgasm building, and somewhere deep in the fuzzy crevices of her brain, the safe word appears. "Frumpkin, Frumpkin," she pants, and Yasha stops, looking up at her. "I'm too close," Beau explains, and Yasha fixes her with a wicked smile. When she withdraws her fingers Beau can't help whimpering a little at the loss, but it doesn't last long, because before she can even really register what's happening, Yasha is spanking her again and all she can do then is arch her hips up and sob helplessly because she isn't sure she's ever felt anything so good in her entire life. 

"Count," Yasha orders. "We stop at fifteen."

Beau isn't sure she can remember how to count to five, much less fifteen, but somehow she does, her voice getting higher with every blow. By fifteen it's a caricature of its usual self and the sheets underneath her are soaked, and there are tears rolling down her cheeks. "Please," she says quietly, her cunt clenching and releasing of its own accord, desperate for something,  _ anything.  _ "Mistress,  _ please."  _

Yasha looks...bored? "Please what?" 

Beau is too stupid from all of this to realize that it's just part of the game, but she's also too stupid from all of it to be offended. She's crying, too tired to fight against the restraints, and it's all so good she knows the second Yasha touches her she's going to come regardless of if she has permission or not. "I need to  _ come,  _ Mistress," she says helplessly, and Yasha grins down at her. 

"That's not how you ask," she says, hand hovering centimeters above Beau's cunt. 

" **_Please!_ ** " Beau sobs, thrashing. "Please let me come, Mistress, I'm desperate, I need it, please, please, gods,  _ please. _ " She turns to bury her face in the pillow because she knows that Yasha's face will be too much for her, just as Yasha leans in, pushing two fingers inside of her and curling them up just right, the palm of her hand pressed against her clit again. 

Beau's vision goes black as she comes, and she doesn't have the wherewithal to warn Yasha that she's going to make a mess before she does, soaking the bed beneath her and then collapsing, trembling and sobbing. 

Yasha makes quick work of untying her, grabbing a towel Beau hadn't even noticed, putting it under her hips before drawing her into her arms, kissing the top of her head and stroking her hair. "You were good," she tells her, and Beau just lays there, limp as a ragdoll. "Are you okay?"

Beau lays there in silence for a few more long moments before she finally has her voice back, and she nods, chuckles. "You should wear a dress more often," she declares, and then settles in, rests her head against Yasha's chest, and lets the rhythm of her heart lull her into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.


End file.
